Changing My Major to Leave Me Alone
by YeOldenSnails
Summary: All second-year college student Taylor Hebert wants is affordable housing and a decent research budget. Unfortunately, she lives in America, and her name is Taylor Hebert. No-Powers, College AU.
1. Chapter One: Living Life On The Edge

I love _Life Bends Down_ , but it needs worthy opponents.

Cross-posting from SV, will try to update simultaneously but FFnet may run a day or two behind (which is why we're starting off with a double-post). I'll get it up on AO3 as soon as my account is approved, I'm not sure about SB yet.

 **DISCLAIMER:** All of _Worm_ and associated properties belong to John McCrae AKA Wildblow. I'm just doing this for fun. Yes, I did read _Worm_ all the way to the finish and yes I did cry at the end.

 **CONTENT WARNINGS:** This thread is rated M for Mature because I don't really want to have to worry about it. It's actually probably more like PG-13. Still, this is a story about college students, so expect all the sorts of wacky shenanigans college students get up to (e.g. drinking, dating, cursing, and all that jazz) as well as mild violence and implied sexual content. I will be posting trigger warnings for each chapter to the best of my ability. The trigger warnings _will_ include spoilers, so I'm putting them in the cut below since FFnet does not have spoiler tags. If you want or need different trigger warnings, please let me know and I'll put them in. This fic is ultimately a comedy, but it's also _Worm_ , so, like, very dark comedy. Read at your own risk.

 **SYNOPSIS:** All second-year college student Taylor Hebert wants is affordable housing and a decent research budget. Unfortunately, she lives in America, and her name is Taylor Hebert.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I'm going to try to update once a week until I get through my buffer, at which point the schedule is probably going to be sporadic since I write this in my free time when I'm bored or procrastinating. Currently, it's written up through chapter five and plotted all the way to the end, so if I end up abandoning it I can post the plot summary on request. More information might be added, TBD. Also, I don't currently have a beta-reader, if anyone wants to volunteer for that (I'm new to this website, but I think you can PM me?).

 **Spoilers and trigger warnings inside the cut.**

* * *

 ** _TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER ONE - INCLUDES SPOILERS:_**

 _Ambiguous possible suicide attempt; frank discussions of suicide and suicidality; homelessness; almost falling off a four story building; claustrophobia; panic attacks/flashbacks (with hallucinations); amputation (past, not pictured); unexpected removal of a prosthetic; internalized ableism (use of the word "cr*pple" in self-denigration); implied/referenced possible child abuse (spoiler: that's actually not what's happening); following a stranger to a second location_

* * *

 **1.1 - LIVING LIFE ON THE EDGE**

Up on the roof at three am, I regretted my life choices. Most immediately, not bringing a jacket, but also everything else that let up to that, starting at my conception.

My hand trembled. I could barely feel my keys biting into my thigh. I was numb and hard, like my skin was just rubber wrapped around someone else's bones. Mom would've appreciated that analogy, assuming she didn't realize it was partway literal.

It wasn't like she'd be proud of me for much else.

She'd always wanted me to go to college, and, finally, here I was. A half-frozen homeless nobody cripple, hiding out on library rooftop at her dead mom's alma mater.

The access door banged open behind me, blown wide by the wind. I could still go back in. Lock up. Sleep in the stacks. The check out desk opened late on Saturdays, so I'd have time to get out before the morning shift caught me. Even if they did, my boss might cut me some slack — I had enough unpaid overtime hours banked up to justify a little leeway.

I crouched between the gargoyles on the short parapet, staring up at the sky. The light pollution turned the ever-present sea fog a bright grey, and half a moon glowed green in the distance. I could even spot what might be a star or two. Unusually clear, for a Brockton fall.

I unfurled slowly, hips creaking. My knees popped violently and my spine protested as I stood up. I swung my arms in big arcs across my chest, trying to work the blood back into them. Coming to a decision, I stepped—

" _ **WAIT!"**_

I startled, leg jerking up defensively. For a endless moment, I teetered on the edge of the roof, barely hanging on by my toes. My arms pinwheeled and my knee overextended. My leg cramped, hovering frozen in midair. I could feel my anchoring foot slipping out from under me, inch by inch.

I threw myself back, desperate, and my heels flew off the edge. I went weightless, silent, not a single part of me touching a solid surface.

The wind broke the bubble, shrieking up as I fell down, and I curled my knees into my chest tighter and tighter until suddenly my shoulder blades crunched against cement, so hard my right wrist popped out of socket and my glasses flew off my face. My legs kept going, rebounding against my chest, their momentum flinging me into a backwards somersault, flipping heels over head to end up flat on my face, the rest of me sprawled out in a heap. I could hear my right hand bouncing against something hard, separate from the rest of me.

I lay there for a while, trying to feel my feet. The world spun. I thought, woozily, that I might be dying. Dying felt awful. Every part of my body was suddenly clamoring to remind me that its nerves were still sending, if not receiving. My ears buzzed. Existing, even very quietly, hurt. I wanted my mom, or my dad, or maybe a rabbi.

I wobbled my head upright enough to check for one of those, feeling vaguely nauseous, and instead found the blurry brick wall marking the edge of the roof less than six inches from my throbbing nose.

Holy shit.

I was still on the roof.

Tiny electric shocks skittered all over me. I hadn't fallen off, which meant I hadn't hit the ground, which meant I wasn't dead or dying, I was fine. The ringing in my ears got louder. I was breathing so fast I thought my lungs might burst and take my ribs with them. My skin pricked under a thousand tiny clattering claws.

I lurched up, pushing at the roof until I was sitting. My head spun and I nearly fell back over, catching myself on my right elbow just in time, the fabric of my compression sleeve hitching against the ground.

I pawed violently at my face, wiggling my toes. All there, all stinging with pins and needles. My nose, mouth, eyes, where they should be. I had just as many ears as before, both buzzing loudly. One and a half arms, no clue where my prosthetic hand went. My hair, still on my head. I flopped down on my back, totally out of breath. The roof swayed beneath me like a boat.

 _I wasn't dead, I was fine, everything was okay_ —

The access door went off like a gunshot, slamming open and rattling the hinges so hard they almost gave. My heart skipped a beat and I lunged away from the sound, banging my aching back against the low parapet. My vision lurched at the sudden motion. A wiggly figure stood in the open doorway, framed in silhouette like a ghost, chest heaving, limb outstretched. Even from halfway across the roof, I could hear their ragged breathing, raking in rough rasps of air. I went completely still.

" _Oh, thank god,"_ they wheezed, keeling over, blur shifting as they bent double. "T-Thank god. Thank g-god and fuck and ev-everything else _. You're_ _alive_."

I tried to feel something about that other than panic. It was hard to understand them over the echoing in my ears, and without my glasses they were just a vague shape. I inched further away from the edge, diagonal from where they were hunched over, still panting, as I frantically felt out the rooftop for my missing hand. My fingers found my glasses instead, and I shoved them onto my face so fast I nearly poked out an eye. The frames hung awkwardly across my cheeks, warped by the fall.

"E-Eight flights of stairs," the stranger groaned, holding their stomach. "Four f-fucking stories worth of stairs. I've never r-run that much in my entire life. Never again."

They staggered out into the moonlight, skin slick with sweat. Their long hair stuck wildly to their face, pale gray in the nighttime glow. I could see the whites of their eyes, upturned at the edges against the taught flat planes of their cheekbones. Their white skirt swirled around their knees. My head spun. They looked like something out of one of Emma's sister's Japanese horror movies. My glasses slipped down my nose.

Apparently finished studying me, they thrust out one hand, pointing at my heart. I flinched back, vertigo roiling in protest, holding my bent glasses frames on.

Their mouth was moving again, face unwinding into disconcerting grin. I strained to hear over the noise in my head. The nub of my trembling right arm bumped against something hard and smooth. _Found it._

"Lisa," they offered. "She/her. Sorry for nearly scaring you off the roof."

'Lisa' had a distinctly West Coast accent, which meant she wasn't from around here. I hadn't heard of any out-of-state serial killers, but you never knew in Brockton.

I shook my head to clear it.

I eyed her outstretched hand, palm sweating. I adjusted my glasses, settling them at a more secure diagonal across my nose. Like most people, she led with her right. I shoved my right arm in my empty pants pocket, knocking my loose prosthetic into the shadow behind my hip.

I raised my left hand.

Lisa smoothly switched sides, sharp smile unwavering. "Pleasure to meet you," she insisted, reaching out and gripping my hand tightly. "Sorry again about the circumstances."

I looked down at our joined hands. I tried to tug mine back. Lisa clamped down harder.

My shoulders creaked, straining against my twisted sweater.

"So, what's your name?" Lisa demanded. My palm prickled. She clearly wasn't planning to let go.

I tried to pull away again, but Lisa had a vice hold on me. My back made its grievances known. I shifted my weight and accidentally sent my right hand rolling across the rooftop again, quickly angling my body so that Lisa couldn't see what made the noise.

"Taylor," I croaked, giving up. Thrown off a roof by a toothy stranger wasn't the worst way to die.

Lisa squeezed my hand again. "Nice to meet you, Taylor!" she repeated. "You're not hurt, right? I thought you looked fine at first, but it's kind of hard to tell in the dark."

I had no idea why she would guess that, assuming she'd seen me fall.

"Good, good!" Lisa chirped. I didn't correct her. Even if she was actually as concerned about me as she appeared, the hospital was expensive and it was probably only bruises. Hopefully, my glasses just needed a screwdriver.

I considered trying to fish for my right hand with my feet, but figured Lisa would notice that.

She studied my face. Her eyes were a dark green in the moonlight, sharp and surprisingly serious despite her smile. "What brings you up here, Taylor?" she asked.

I looked away. Lisa gently rubbed the back of my left hand. I twitched. The sensation was disconcerting.

I tried to gather my words but the constant contact kept drawing my attention.

"Needed to think," I finally said, staring at our joined hands.

"Yeah, it's really quiet, isn't it?" Lisa sat down next to me, still not letting go of my hand. "And you can even see the stars! Plus the gargoyles really add a certain je na se quio. You know, I thought you were one until you stood up! Scared the crap out of me." She was close enough that I could feel her body heat through my sleeve. I started to sweat.

"'Course then I nearly spooked you off the roof, so I guess we're even," Lisa chattered on, filling the silence. She kept rubbing circles on my hand, playing idly with my fingers. I stared at them, not sure what to say. "Still, I can't believe I've never been up here before! Do you come here often, Taylor?"

I tried to put a little more distance between us and my keys dug painfully into my left leg. "I work here," I admitted.

"In the library? That's cool! You must really like reading, right?"

I shrugged. I looked around, trying to figure out exactly where my prosthetic had landed. I hadn't heard it fall off the roof.

Lisa tapped my left hand lightly. I glanced back at her. "What's your favorite book?" she prompted. Why did she care?

I frowned, staring at the access door. No arm-shaped shadows in that direction. I shifted my hips and my keys, remarkably still in my pocket after the fall, clicked together lightly. Beyond the door, the stairwell was completely dark, just like the rest of the library.

"How'd you get up here?" I demanded.

Lisa's grip stiffened a little, then relaxed. "I took the stairs," she quipped, smiling. Seeing my scowl, she clarified, "The front door was unlocked."

My frown deepened. "It's key-card access only," I insisted. "Locks automatically after-hours." They were really serious about security, because of the rare books collection. Nothing so great as the private schools, but we had some pretty expensive second and third editions.

"I guess you didn't close it fully?" Lisa suggested, rubbing my hand again.

My blood went cold. What if someone got in? I glanced around wildly, eyes landing on Lisa. Someone _had_ gotten in.

I started to sweat. I'd die homeless _and_ unemployed. "Taylor." My knees were trembling. I clenched my fist so hard my fingers creaked. If I lost my work-study, I wouldn't be able to cover tuition. Why did I have to be such a stupid useless— "Taylor!"

My head snapped up. Lisa was staring at me. I couldn't read her expression, but she wasn't smiling anymore.

"Taylor, it's okay — I swear I won't tell anyone," she assured me. Her expression was soft with sympathy. It hurt to look at. "I know how to keep a secret." The shadows deepened around her eyes. "Plus, I'd be on the shitlist too, for coming up here. Technically, I'm a trespasser." _At the least._ She smirked. "Promise I won't tattle if you won't?"

I studied the cracks in the rooftop. My keys hung heavy in my pocket. This _was_ private property, even though it belonged to a city college, which gave me some leverage of sorts. Slowly, I nodded.

She grinned again. It suited her face.

"Deal," she agreed. She paused, then added, "So long as you tell me your favorite book." I rolled my eyes despite myself, huffing or maybe hyperventilating.

I stared unseeing at the gargoyles, letting my breathing even out enough for words.

" _The Living and the Dead_ ," I decided.

"Oh wow, really?" Lisa exclaimed, "I've never read it, but I _love_ Hitchcock's adaptation."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. Not many people knew that _Vertigo_ was based on a novel.

"I'm a huge fan of detective stories," Lisa admitted. "Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, even the grocery store rack stuff."

I nodded, gaze drifting. _The Living and the Dead_ was really more of a psychological thriller, and I couldn't say I agreed about the merits of the mystery genre more generally.

The moon hung lower in the sky now. It really was bright tonight. There was a blur in the corner of the parapet I thought might be my missing hand.

"So are you an English major?" Lisa asked, bringing my attention back to her.

"Earth Systems," I muttered, tensing.

"Science!" Lisa exclaimed, delighted. "Me too, if you count Psych."

I didn't.

"I'm studying abnormal psychology, like _Criminal Minds_ , but real life!" Oh wow. "But, Earth Systems! You must be a total tree-hugger, right?" Lisa nudged me gently.

I shrugged again. Climate change was going to kill us, but it wasn't my primary focus.

"I'm studying spiders," I said. Or, at least, I had been. My eyes burned a little and I blinked hard to clear them.

"Spiders!" Lisa shuddered dramatically, knocking me out of my thoughts. Maybe she was cold. "You must really like bugs."

"No," I snapped, skin crawling. I moved to scratch at my shoulder and remembered Lisa was still holding my hand. "I hate bugs."

Lisa stared at me.

"Spiders are arachnids," I told her, "not insects. They _eat_ bugs. It's a common misconception."

"Like dolphins being fish," she said.

No. Not at all. The differences between aquatic mammals and their water-breathing neighbors were much greater than arachnids and insects. Plus, nobody over the age of five thought dolphins were fish anymore.

"Sure," I said.

Lisa frowned at me. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but grit her teeth and smiled instead.

"It's an accurate comparison," she said. "It's the exact same zoological class distinction. They're all phyla."

"Yes," I said.

Lisa looked like she was struggling to keep words down. It involved a lot of swallowing and complicated facial contortions.

"You know what?" she exclaimed, smile back in place. "It's getting pretty windy out. Why don't we go inside?"

I considered my frozen toes. The breeze wasn't much stronger than before and she was the one wearing a jacket. Then again, students from out of state tended to have a low tolerance for weather. I still had no idea why anyone would come to the less than illustrious Brockton Bay University from out of state, but people did it.

My arm ached. The maybe-prosthetic shape taunted me from across the roof.

Tapping my heels against the ground, I muttered, "We shouldn't be in the library after hours."

Lisa stood up, taking my hand with her. "That's okay, my car is just around the corner. I'll drive you home."

Every muscle in my body went rigid. The seams of my clothes creaked in protest _._

 _Dad, sitting at the kitchen table, hands carefully folded to keep from forming fists._

"Taylor?" Lisa prompted, tugging at my arm. I didn't move.

"I-I'm fine here," I stammered, my forearm twisting in my pocket. "You can go without me."

Lisa mouth was a flat line. "I'm not leaving you on the roof," she said.

"No, really, I'm good," I said, pulling back against her grip. I stared longingly at my right hand. "Everything's copacetic. I'll, uh, walk back later."

"I'll walk with you," she declared.

"No!" I snapped. "I, um, need some time alone. To think."

 _Like I was doing before you nearly scared me off the roof,_ was implied.

"Taylor," Lisa said, with what looked like concern instead guilt. Shit. "It's nearly four A.M. I want to make sure you get home safe."

That wasn't the issue. I'd lived in Brockton Bay all my life, I knew which streets were dangerous and which weren't. I didn't feel the same about the people. The back of my neck prickled with sweat.

Lisa crouched down in front of me so that our eyes were level. "Taylor," she said, subdued, "do you have anywhere to sleep tonight?"

My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard.

"Yeah," I said, looking away.

"Let me take you there," Lisa insisted.

I flinched, the keys drilling a hole in my pocket. I glanced at the access door. Lisa followed my gaze.

"Were you planning to sleep in the library?" she asked, almost a whisper.

I shrugged, glaring at the ground.

"Taylor—" she started, rubbing my wrist again.

"I'm fine!" I snarled, snatching my hand away from her. Everything was _fine._ I was only going to crash in the stacks for one night, I'd figure something else out tomorrow.

"Do you have any friends you can stay with?" Lisa suggested, fingers twitching.

I scratched vigorously at my right shoulder, staring at the gargoyles on the parapet.

"Oh, right. Okay," Lisa murmured. I glanced at her. "That's fine. This actually works out. Perfect timing."

She turned to me, smiling brightly, a little more strained than before. I tensed.

"You know," she said cheerfully, "my housemates and I have been looking for a fifth person to sign on to the lease! We have an empty room you can stay in, and then if you like it, maybe you can keep it!"

I stood up, eyes burning, almost knocking Lisa over. She righted herself, and got to her feet. She was around a foot shorter than me, which felt surprising somehow even though I knew I was unusually tall.

"I don't have any money," I muttered, stepping back.

"No problem," Lisa chirped, following me. "The whole place is subsidized, so it's really cheap. We'll work out a monthly rate based on how much you can afford." My shoulders hiked. "Besides, we really need another tenant to make rent. You'd be doing _us_ a favor, really."

My nails cut into my palm. "Why are you trying this hard for me?" I snapped. I stalked over to the edge of the roof, keeping my eyes on her. I sped up when Lisa kept trailing me.

"You...remind me of someone," she said, sounding distracted. I walked faster. She grabbed my shoulder, jerking me away from the parapet.

I spun on her. "What the hell?" I shouted. "Let — let go of me!"

"Stay, at least for tonight," Lisa pleaded, grip tightening on my shoulder. "Please. For me." Her eyes shone wet and wide in the dark.

I shook off her grip, shoving her and her tears away from me, and turned back to the low wall, searching for the right spot. Lisa wrapped her arms around me from behind, throwing her weight backwards so that we both toppled over onto the rooftop.

We tangled in the air, me struggling against her, twisting so that Lisa landed on top of me pinning me with her body weight. My arms were trapped awkwardly beneath me. I wheezed, stunned, ears ringing. Something started dripping through my shirt. Ropes wrapped around me in a vice grip.

"Please, Taylor," a voice cried. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm, we're going to the hospital, okay? I'm sorry, I should've just taken you before, but I fucked up. Thought I could handle it. Couldn't handle it. We're going now."

Tiny claws dug into my skin, trying to get under my eyelids. My ears buzzed, there was something crawling inside them. I couldn't move. I thrashed, bucking the weight off me, rolling and banging my elbows against flesh and concrete. I looked around wild-eyed, searching for a way out, something to break the lock, but everything was blurry and dark—

Hands on my back, pulling me out. Someone was shouting. I struggled, slapping them away and scrambling to my feet. I whirled around, trying to figure out where I was, the world mostly splotchy shapes without my glasses.

A bright blur. The moon? The roof. Lisa, kneeling next to me on the roof, ready to fling herself at my knees again any second.

"What _the fuck!_ " I roared, shaking, chest heaving. My fist clenched and I almost punched her. "Why would you — _why did you_ _do that!_ "

"We're going to the hospital—" Lisa said, standing up, looking determined.

"The hospital?" I yelled. "No! Why the fuck would we — I'm fine! I was completely _fine_ here on this roof until _you_ fucking tried to scare me off it!"

"You're not fine, Taylor!" Lisa shouted back, shoving at my shoulders. "You came up here trying to kill yourself, and then you had a _seizure—_ "

"I did _not_ have a _seizure_!" I shrieked, swinging for her. I missed, depth perception terrible without my glasses.

" _I'm not going to let you kill yourself!"_ Lisa screamed, grabbing my collar.

I froze. Kill myself?

"What?" I said.

"I know everything seems awful right now, like it's never going to end, and maybe, maybe your parents or your landlord just kicked you out or something, I don't know," Lisa rambled, pushing the words out as fast as she could go. I flinched. "And maybe you feel like you're not worth it or no one cares and no one would miss you if you were dead, but _I care_ , Taylor, and so should you! You matter, and your life matters, and everything might suck right now but things can and do get better and if you kill yourself then they'll never get a chance to!"

"You think I'm going to jump," I said, staring at her.

Lisa, or what I could see of her, looked ancient in the dark. "No, you won't, because I'll stop you," she said, grip tightening on my sweater. "But I think you're trying to."

"I'm not going to kill myself," I said.

"Only because four story falls aren't fatal," she muttered.

"I'm not going to _kill myself,_ " I insisted, louder.

"Why did you come up on the roof, Taylor?" Lisa asked me.

"To _think_!" I yelled, throwing my arms in the arm.

"And _then what?_ " Lisa snapped back.

I went still. And then what?

I didn't know.

"I wasn't going to kill myself," I said, more to myself than her.

Lisa pulled me into a hug.

"I _wasn't,_ " I repeated. Lisa was shaking. "I was going to, to sleep in the library. Figure things out from there." Most of my other life plans had fallen apart about three hours earlier. Hence, the roof.

Lisa squeezed harder.

"Come away from the edge," she pleaded. I looked over her shoulder. The parapet ledge was only a foot or two away. I'd been headed right for it.

That probably looked pretty incriminating, in retrospect.

I cleared my throat, fidgeting, then cleared it again. My skin prickled. Cold sweat dropped down my spine. Finally, I forced the words out.

"I need to get my arm first," I muttered.

Lisa's hold spasmed around me and went stiff. "What?" she said, pulling back slightly.

"My arm," I explained, gesturing with my conspicuously empty right sleeve to the barely visible hand shape laying against the rooftop wall.

Lisa stared. Her face blur went two shades paler and then three shades darker in the moonlight.

"I fucked up," she said.

I looked up at the sky. "You, uh, meant well," I said. "I guess."

In theory, trying to save my life by keeping me from throwing myself off a roof was probably the nicest thing anyone had done for me in…well, in a long while. Even if she had nearly killed me twice in the process. And held my hand, like, a _lot._

Yeah, no, I was still pretty pissed about most of that.

"Wow," Lisa repeated into my chest. "I _really_ screwed the pooch on this one. Shit. _Shit._ "

I cleared my throat.

"Can I go get my arm now?" I asked.

Lisa let go of me so fast I thought she might dislocate her shoulders.

I crouched down and picked up my prosthetic, turning it over for a quick evaluation. It didn't look like there were any obvious tears, but it was hard to tell in the dark. I popped it back on my right forearm, tugging my sleeve down on top of it, fabric catching against the rubbery material. I squinted around the rooftop in the dark.

"Do you see my glasses anywhere?" I asked.

That shocked Lisa out of her stupor. She flitted around the roof a bit before squatting down. She pressed the familiar frames into my outstretched hand.

"Thanks," I said automatically, slipping them back on my face. One of the lenses was badly scratched and I thought it might be cracked. That would be a problem, since I couldn't get my old spares from home.

We stood there on the roof, staring at each other.

"So," Lisa said, "still no on the hospital?"

I nodded, working my right hand into my pocket with some difficulty.

"Okay," she said. "You're coming home with me, then."

I glared at her. Seriously?

"If only so I can get you some food, and a place to sleep," Lisa hurriedly explained. "We really do have a vacancy to fill, and I owe you," she waved her hand at my face, "for the glasses and...tackling you, and everything."

"I don't need your charity—" I started, tensing.

"It's not charity if you're paying rent," Lisa declared, brushing me off. She smiled again and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I went stiff. It was an awkward angle, given our difference in heights. "You can meet everyone tomorrow and decide about the lease, but you're staying over tonight and that's non-negotiable. I'm not going to let you sleep in the library when it's not even finals week."

I scowled. "I work here, it's fine. I have twenty-four hour access."

"Until you get fired for crashing in the stacks," Lisa declared, turning me towards the access door. "No, unacceptable. You'll need this job to cover the deposit. We're cheap but we're not _that_ cheap."

I shook my head, eyes burning.

She squeezed my shoulders. "Come on, I don't know about you, but I require at least ten hours sleep to function. If we don't get back soon, I won't be awake until like sundown tomorrow. Today. Yesterday, maybe."

"Just go home, then," I muttered. Lisa gripped me tighter.

"Not without you," Lisa declared. "I don't leave strangers alone on rooftops at four thirty in the morning when I can help it. It's bad policy."

I blew out a long breath. She wasn't going to back down on this.

All I wanted to do was lay down on the ground and not move or think for at least a year. Too tired to fight, I let myself be pulled along into the dark stairwell.

"Really, Taylor," Lisa insisted. "The pleasure is all mine."

* * *

 **DELETED SCENE: "DEFINITELY NOT CONCUSSED"**

"Sorry," I told Lisa, "about earlier. I'm not the best conversationalist. Plus I thought you were maybe a serial killer. And I kind of," I waved my hand in the air near my head, "jiggled my brains a bit."

Lisa frowned, glancing at me in the rear view mirror. "You have a concussion?" she asked.

"No." I shook my head. "I was just, uh, dizzy. Not thinking straight, right after the fall."

"If you think you have a concussion, we should go to the hospital," she insisted.

"I don't have a concussion," I snapped. I knew what concussions felt like, I'd had them before. "I was just disoriented. Because of all the tumbling around."

Lisa looked unconvinced.

"Like an inner-ear thing," I explained.

Lisa slowly nodded, turning back to the road. "Let me know if you start to feel worse," she said, grip tight on the wheel.

I glared out the window, feeling the seat sway under me. I didn't have a concussion.


	2. Chapter Two: Running Commentary

****DISCLAIMER:**** All of _Worm_ and associated properties belong to John McCrae AKA Wildblow. I'm just doing this for fun. Yes, I did read _Worm_ all the way to the finish and yes I did yell a lot about Bonesaw.

 **Trigger Warnings and spoilers beneath the cut:**

* * *

 _ **TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER TWO: INCLUDES MAJOR SPOILERS**_

 _Questionable age gaps in relationships [[ **MAJOR** **SPOILER:** 17-yo dating a 19-yo, turning 20 (current); a 23-yo sleeping with a 18-yo (past)]]; TA/student relationships (past); ableism; accidentally outing yourself as disabled to a crowd; someone attempting to take off another person's clothes unexpectedly (non-sexual context); ableism and ableist slurs ("cr*pple" used as an insult against a disabled person)._

* * *

 **1.2 CHAPTER TWO: "RUNNING COMMENTARY"**

I woke up in a borrowed room, wearing borrowed clothes, dreaming about borrowed time. I ran my hand along the cotton sheets and gathered the will to get out of bed.

Kicking the covers off, I swung my legs around, muscles protesting. The floor felt unfamiliar, cold and too hard. Soft light filtered in through the window blinds.

Despite her continued certainty I'd sign the lease, Lisa had made me promise to at least stay for lunch that afternoon. Unless she was trying to fatten me up for something, this probably meant she was serious about housing and not planning to sell me to human traffickers.

The walls and shelves were completely barren, except for my watch on the bedside table. It was 10:00am — impossibly late for me, but then again I'd gone to sleep around the time I usually woke up.

I scrubbed at my eyes. I felt antsy and exhausted all at once.

I looked around for my shoes. Lisa had left me a sweatshirt and a pair of baggy joggers that looked too big to be hers, along with a clean towel.

A quick check confirmed that my prosthetic was mostly intact. There was a short tear along the wrist breaking the vacuum seal so that it kept slipping off my arm, but I could probably jerryrig that with wide rubber band. No urgent reason to visit the prosthetist or order a new one, even if I could afford it without Dad's health insurance. I'd leave it off until I could scrounge up some spare office supplies, hopefully before I bumped into anyone else.

If I washed my clothes in the sink before lunch, I could probably go for a run and change into Lisa's stuff while I waited for them to dry. She hadn't lent me a bra, but my chest was too small to really need one for anything other than working out and my back was too sore for it anyway. My neck had seized up overnight, and it was a struggle to even turn my head to the side.

I rubbed at my shoulder. I didn't really want to think about last night.

My threadbare jeans hung short around my ankles. They weren't the best running gear, but I didn't want to sweat into someone else's laundry. I tugged my thick cable-knit sweater on over my head — I only had a t-shirt on underneath and I didn't like leaving my right arm exposed in public, even in a compression sock.

Clothes were definitely going to be a problem in the future.

My glasses were also still badly broken, but I was basically blind without them. Even with them twisted to sit as securely across my nose as possible, I really only had clear vision in one eye because of the damaged lens.

I tied my laces so tight they hurt and slipped out of the room as quietly as possible. Mine was the only open door downstairs, and I couldn't hear anyone else moving around upstairs, so I didn't think Lisa or her housemates were awake yet.

Lisa's house was unusually nice for a place shared by a bunch of college students. The room she had lent me was just off the living room, opposite the kitchen, both of which looked straight out of the pages of a vandalized interior design magazine. Showcase real estate where the pristine surfaces had suffered in the absence of supervising adults. The couch and carpet were a sleek modernist white, mostly unstained despite the pile of empty pizza boxes on the glass coffee table. Discarded dog toys and shoes riddled the floor. There was a flatscreen TV, surrounded by bookshelves stocked with gaming systems, textbooks, and more DVDs than I had ever seen in my life.

I definitely couldn't afford to live here.

I crept out the front door, making sure it clicked shut behind me. It was close to noon and Lisa lived in a newly gentrified part of town, so I didn't feel too bad about leaving it unlocked. I would only be gone for half an hour, anyway. I couldn't manage more than that with my neck the way it was.

I set off at a steady pace, planning to map the neighborhood. Lisa's house was just one on a block of identical prefab houses, and surprisingly not the only one with a set of ugly giant lawn chairs, possibly part of the furnishing package. They'd replaced the rundown but more affordable industrial housing that used to populate this area.

Lisa's did have the only unmarked white van on the street, which would've probably been concerning if she hadn't already kidnapped me.

The neighborhood had been "revitalized" after a big name gene-editing corporation started making moves to switch its headquarters to Brockton Bay. Probably because the medical waste disposal laws were laxer here, courtesy of our local pharmaceutical conglomerate, Medhall. Only idiots and tourists actually went swimming in the Bay.

Of course, nobody cared about how Cauldron's imminent arrival just reinforced the north-south wealth divide that defined the city. Brockton was perfectly happy to keep pushing the growing homeless and low-income populations south towards the Docks where the gangs roamed wild.

The city council was happy, the contractors were happy, and Brockton Bay University, which used to sit right in the middle of a dangerous part of town, was very, very happy.

Which probably explained why BBU's PRT Honors Program dorm was built like a concrete prison complex. Apparently, Lisa only lived four blocks down from it, putting her a total of eight blocks from the edge of campus proper. Both much closer than where I'd been living, since my dad's house was all the way on the far south side of the Bay rim where the ferry used to run.

More than a good three and a half hour bike ride in distance, and I'd forgotten my mine in my rush to get away last night. No wonder my legs were sore.

I sped up anyway as I passed the PRT dorm, resisting the urge to spit at it. PRT "Wards" were the best of BBU's generally lackluster student populace, gifted with free housing, full-ride scholarships, and generous research stipends.

My rejection letter burnt a hole in my thigh, still crumpled in the back pocket of last night's jeans. Fuck Dr. Wallace and his prissy program and their stringent "safety standards." He wouldn't know real science if it bit him on the ass, which he was apparently convinced mine would.

It definitely _wouldn't_ , but my dad didn't seem to believe that either, when he kicked me out and threatened to destroy my work. I definitely couldn't find anywhere affordable to move it by Monday. Which only made the lack of free housing sting even worse.

I focused on the pavement pounding beneath my feet and not on burning down the PRT complex. It was concrete, so it probably wouldn't catch well anyway. Maybe that was the point.

Just past it was Greek Street, where all the sororities and frats had bought and renovated old houses. They'd probably all be asleep until noon, but I turned around before I passed them anyway. I wasn't feeling up to catcalls today, even if my lackluster figure and missing hand usually drew more stares than double-entendres.

Everyone was still asleep when I got back to Lisa's place, but it was already 10:30 so I'd figured a shower was probably fine. Lisa had shown me the upstairs bathroom last night, the only other shower was in the master bedroom and therefore off-limits, although she didn't tell me whose it was.

I fought to get a brush through my wet tangles, hoping that they didn't frizz. Normally I'd blow dry my hair to keep it under control, but I didn't want to wake everyone up 'early' on a Saturday. I couldn't impinge anymore on Lisa's generosity. Still, I snagged a wide scrunchie from the liberal coating of them on the counter, rolling it over my left wrist for safe keeping. No one would miss it, and I'd return it as soon as I found a suitable rubber band.

The joggers Lisa laid out for me last night were a little long, which was unusual given my height, and I had to tie the drawstring double tight to keep them up. By contrast, Lisa's faded cartoon-detective sweatshirt basically fit me like a loose crop top. I futilely kept trying to tug it down over my stomach. At least it still covered most of my bruises from the roof, even if it left some of my old scarring exposed. So long as no one looked too closely, I could probably pass them off as weird full-body acne scars.

I swung the door open, damp towel wrapped around my shoulders, and came face to face with one of her housemates.

He was shorter than me, prettier than me, and, if his infuriatingly perfect bedhead was any indication, had better hair than me, too. My only consolation was that his skin was corpse white in a way that screamed vitamin-D deficiency more so than it did "classical sculpture".

Unblinking and dead-eyed, he stared at me, then glanced pointedly down at the sweatshirt I was wearing. My hand twitched around the towel and I resisted the urge to bolt. He raised his eyebrows slowly and deliberately.

Slipping past me into the bathroom, he told the air next to my shoulder, "She sure likes them tall."

The door snapped shut behind him.

I almost ran down the stairs, face hotter than the shower had left it. The half-empty end of the right sweatshirt sleeve flapped against my thigh, where the other pulled tight above my wrist. I furiously tucked the right sleeve into the pocket of the joggers, and hurried into the spare room Lisa lent me to pick up my prosthetic.

The scrunchy wasn't a perfect fix, but with the extra bulk of the compression sock it'd probably hold so long as I didn't wave my arm around too vigorously. Not a problem, since I planned to keep my hand in my pocket and safely away from Lisa's housemates.

I couldn't see anywhere to hang the towel to dry without risking water damage, so I left it around my shoulders, dampening the sweatshirt.

The kitchen was just across the living room from the room I'd stayed in. Sleek countertops and a flush suite of up-to-date appliances, more expensive than I thought any group of college students should be able to afford. Bursting with food, too, none of which was for me, no matter what Lisa said.

It was also, unfortunately, occupied.

A young black girl sat on the counter, bare legs dangling from an oversized camo print t-shirt that declared 'I'm invisible!' in bright pink glittering letters. I assumed it was supposed to be funny, but I didn't know why. Her hair haloed loosely around her head, bouncing out every direction. Her face was turned away from me, but I could see the baby fat on her cheeks as she stared intently at the rainbow star-patterned rice cooker next to her. It seemed out of place next to the ultra-modern stainless steel toaster.

I crept over to the sink, feeling like an intruder. She barely glanced at me, engrossed in the rice cooker.

"Want some oatmeal?" she offered, staring at the countdown timer. Unlike Lisa, her south-Brockton accent was even thicker than my own.

I eyed the steaming rice cooker nervously. "No, thanks." I studied the cabinets for the one most likely to hold water glasses.

"You sure?" she asked, turning to me. "It's good. Best way to make oatmeal." I shook my head and opened up a second cupboard full of plates. Who needed this many serving platters?

She gave me a once over, double-taking when she saw the sweatshirt. She leered. I pulled the towel tighter around myself and thoroughly searched the empty dishwasher for cups without bending my neck, the back of which felt hot and clammy.

"Where'd _you_ get that hoodie _?"_ she asked, kicking the cabinet next to my ear. I jumped, knocking my head on the countertop. My neck screamed in protest.

I fumbled for words, rubbing my bruised scalp. I tugged the sleeve down taught over my fingers and opened up a drawer full of souvenir coffee mugs.

"Lisa," I finally admitted, picking a random mug. Good enough.

The girl grinned wider, revealing a slight gap in her front teeth. "You know she's taken even when she's single, right? It doesn't matter if they're on break, her datemate would eat you alive."

My knuckles went white around the orange 'Aloha!' mug. I turned back to the sink.

"I'm taken too, in case you were wondering," she added. I wasn't. She barely looked old enough to be a freshman. They got younger and younger every year. I stood the mug in the sink and turned the faucet on, waiting for the water to cool down.

"So's my brother," she continued, on a roll. I increased the flow to a low roar, but she only spoke louder. "And my boyfriend, obviously. Actually, if your type isn't short, surly, and dogs, you're pretty much shit out of luck in this house."

I picked the mug up again and stuck it in the spray, water splashing over the edges of the cup so fast barely any of it stayed inside no matter how hard I glared. In the reflection on the shiny sink tap, I could see Lisa's housemate opening her mouth again, smile widening in preparation.

The rice cooker chirped happily, and I whirled around, spilling the rest of my freezing drink all over my front.

"Oh look," I said, dripping. "Your food is ready."

She stared at me. I set the mug down on the counter and turned off the tap. Her grin got even broader. I pulled the towel from around my neck and crouched down to wipe off the wet kitchen tiles, trying to hide my burning cheeks.

When I stood up, Lisa's housemate shoved two bowls into my chest. "Here," she commanded. "Hold these." I fumbled them one-handed before balancing one in the crook of my elbow, almost losing my grip on them both, right arm jerking against the pocket lining as I fought to stay steady.

"Hey," I protested, completely ignored.

Lisa's housemate bustled around the kitchen, humming to herself as she gathered spoons and various sugary substances that I guessed were part of breakfast. Every time she found something she liked, she tossed it on top of the growing tower of condiments and utensils against my chest. If I didn't exhale, I could almost keep it all balanced.

" _Hey_ ," I repeated, trying to get her to stop. Maintaining this with only one arm was practically impossible, but I didn't want to take my right hand out of my pocket and risk her spotting my prosthetic for what it was.

"Goddamn you," someone behind me spat. I jumped about a half foot in the air and it was only dumb luck that kept everything from hitting the floor. My hand spasmed around the brown sugar bag, almost dropping the whipped cream, and I fought to get my heartbeat under control so that it didn't disturb the cereal boxes.

Lisa stepped out into the kitchen. She looked different in the daytime, less ethereal. She was prettier than I expected, although her face was still a little unusual, mostly flat planes with surprisingly pointy edges. I guessed she was around my age, even if she looked more composed just wearing pajamas than I did in business casual. Her hair was blonde, not grey or white, and there were freckles scattered across her sharp nose and cheeks. Her eyes were naturally tilted up at the edges, but hard with anger. In the morning light, they were a cold sea bottle green.

I really hoped I wasn't the target of that glare.

" _Goddamn you, Aisha,"_ she repeated, pointing at the kitchen's third occupant. "You made oatmeal in my rice cooker, _again._ "

Lisa stalked forward. I stayed very, very still, pulse fluttering wildly. Her focus was lasered in on 'Aisha'.

"Do you _know_ how long it takes to _clean_ it after you do this?" Lisa hissed. "Do you _realize_ just how _much_ you are making my life harder? I don't think you do."

For a second, I thought I was back in high school, watching myself and Emma, or, more recently, myself and Dad. It was like a slow motion nature documentary, stuck looping the part where the panther jumps out the tree and suddenly every bird in the forest knows better than to breathe. A complete reversal of the Lisa from last night.

"No, of course you don't," Lisa ranted. "You never think about anyone but yourself. It's always the same with you, anything to get attention. You're incapable of internalizing that anything in this house is _off-limits._ "

Aisha looked like she was about to cry.

I shuddered, and the spoons clanged together against the side of one of the bowls. Lisa startled, glancing around. She grimaced, eyes landing on me, and then Aisha.

"Look," Lisa said, running her fingers through her hair. "I care about one, maybe two, things in this kitchen. The rest is up for grabs. But I swear to god if you touch my rice cooker again, you won't get that hand back." She glanced at me and winced again. "Metaphorically." I studied the floor tiles.

Aisha rolled her eyes, rallying like she hadn't just been on the verge of tears. "I know. Like you'd ever have the balls to do it yourself," she scoffed. "You'd probably get slimmer shady over here to chop it off for you."

Lisa ignored her, and turned to me. "Good morning, Taylor." I glanced up. She smiled softly and started peeling pieces off my pile, ferrying them over to the kitchen table. "Did you sleep well?"

Aisha watched intently from the counter. I tried to come up with an adequate answer. Speaking to new people always made my stomach leap into my throat, especially groups.

"Yeah, pretty well. Nice bed," I forced out. I rolled my shoulders, arm suddenly free. "Thanks for letting me stay." I felt obligated to say it, even if I hadn't had a choice.

"Of course! I hope you liked the room. Have you thought any more about the lease?"

"Wait," Aisha demanded, cutting in between us to grab a bowl. I flinched at the sudden closeness. "You had a one night stand and you're already asking her to move in? I've heard of U-Hauling, but this is _beyond—"_

" _Taylor,_ " Lisa said loudly, handing her a serving spoon, "is going to be our new tenant."

"Well, actually—" I started, shoulders hunching.

"Lisa!" Aisha yelled, fishing a lump of oatmeal out of the rice cooker. "You can't just keep adding your flings to the lease! It's in the roommate contract! We already tolerate one of your S.O.'s hanging around, I don't think I could handle a second."

"Taylor and I are not dating," Lisa insisted. My face flushed. "She's needs a place to stay, and I mentioned that we have an empty room. Plus, Rachel and I are barely even friends, she was just—"

"Another smelly stray huddled around a Christmas trashcan fire on the cold, dark winter streets, we know," Aisha finished for her, dropping the full bowl on the table in front of Lisa. "I wasn't talking about Rachel."

Lisa turned an ugly red. "Oh."

"Yeah, _them_ ," Aisha parroted, grabbing another bowl. I straightened up a bit, intrigued despite myself. "Your life partner back in who knows where bumfuck California."

"They're in Canberra right now, actually," Lisa corrected her. "Business trip."

"I don't care," Aisha said, sliding a full bowl onto the placemat closest to me and plopping a spoon down in it. The oatmeal looked light and fluffy, and smelled supremely tempting, even plain. "I just think you should probably tell your hookups about them _before_ you ask strangers to move in with you and inevitably get murdered when The Devil Wears Prada comes back to visit."

Aisha sat down at the the table, setting a third bowl in front of her. Lisa slid into the seat across from her and carefully started peeling a banana. I hovered awkwardly beside an empty chair, not sure what to do with myself.

"My partner is actually very friendly," Lisa told me, cutting up the fruit and pushing it into her oatmeal. "They just have kind of a bad rap around here."

"Because they're a fucking screamer," the boy from before added, stumbling into the kitchen with a yawn. I startled. "I don't know how someone can scream that loud when they're not having sex, but they fucking manage it."

"Alec!" Aisha exclaimed, popping up out of her seat to peck him on the lips. I scrambled to get out of the way, pressing myself back against the counter. "Have some oatmeal."

"It's _throat-singing_ ," Lisa said to the air in my general direction. "They're a _professional_ throat-singer _._ "

Alec glanced over at the counter, ignoring Lisa's protests. "Rice cooker oatmeal? _Mmmm_ , thick. With two c's."

Aisha waggled her eyebrows at him. Lisa slammed her hands against the table, rattling the bowls. "Buy your own fucking rice cooker, you heathens!"

"It's so much more convenient to use yours, though," Alec complained, shuffling over with his bowl to sit down beside Aisha. He plucked the ketchup off the table and started mixing it into his breakfast. He and Lisa continued bickering, Lisa getting increasingly angry while Alec looked completely unphased. I tried to make myself as small as possible.

I tried to tune them out, overwhelmed, but couldn't help listening. Alec's rounded vowels marked him as another out-of-towner, maybe from northern Maine or across the border in Canada. Probably not Canada, there weren't many international students students here.

Aisha kept casually adding things to her breakfast, as if she hadn't started the whole thing. I huddled next to the sink and watched whipped cream, soy sauce, and a packet of goat cheese disappear into her bowl.

"I hope you choke," Lisa swore at Alec. I wondered how rude it would be if I just got my clothes and left.

"Well?" Aisha demanded dumping half a box of cereal into her oatmeal. I jumped. The whole table was staring at me. "You going to eat or what?"

I peeled myself off the counter and gingerly sat down in the empty chair in front of the bowl Aisha had deposited earlier, apparently for me. I hesitated, then picked up the spoon.

"My god," Aisha complained. My grip on the utensil tightened defensively. "Is this how you got so skinny? Eat! It's the best possible oatmeal, made by yours truly, the best possible oatmeal chef! You're not allowed to live in this house if you refuse to eat my oatmeal."

"It's true, you can't," Alec said through a mouth full of red mush. "There's also a dress code, but you'll have to ask Brian about that. Anyway, Lisa, isn't this moving little fast? Even for you." The metal of the spoon cut into my palm.

"Taylor and I are not having sex—" Lisa started.

"Well, obviously," Alec snorted. Aisha high-fived him without looking away from her oatmeal. I stabbed my oatmeal with more force than necessary.

"—she is just a person I know who is in need of a bed _for sleep_. Which we happen to have available," Lisa continued, undaunted. I concentrated on scooping up a spoonful as silently as possible.

Alec shrugged. "How'd you meet?" he asked. I gave up and shoveled the whole thing into my mouth at lightning speed.

"At the library," Lisa said, staring him down. I started chewing my oatmeal very thoroughly.

Aisha looked at me, raising her eyebrows. I nodded vigorously, still swirling the mush between my molars. It was surprisingly good oatmeal.

"I read," Lisa added. "Taylor works there. She's my favorite librarian and recently lost her housing, so I offered to help. Isn't that right, Taylor?"

Lisa looked meaningfully at me. Aisha smiled, showing too many teeth. I swallowed hard, gagging a little. "She likes mystery novels," I offered, voice hoarse. Clearing my throat, I stood up and stepped over to the counter to retrieve the orange mug of water I'd never gotten to drink.

My shoulder blades prickled. I could practically feel Aisha's grin widening. The table felt too close.

"Even if I did accept that bald-faced lie — which I don't, by the way," Aisha declared behind me. I focused on the mug, 'Aloha,' it said, over and over, "it still wouldn't explain why you want her on the lease so bad. Hey, Taylor!" she hollered at my back. I gulped down water so fast I nearly choked. "What's your credit score?"

I was saved by the sudden addition of stomping boots to the kitchen and almost cried in relief. " _Why_ ," the newcomer demanded, "are you _yelling_?"

I turned around, mug halfway from my lips. She stood in the doorway, glowering, about as tall as Lisa, but somehow infinitely more imposing. Her shoulders were broad and well-defined, filling up the space, and I could see the bulge of her biceps even inside her baggy weather-beaten jacket. Her auburn hair was cropped short against her sun-hardened brown skin, and her nose had obviously been broken at least once and set wrong. Two dogs, just as scarred and sturdy as she was, hovered around her feet.

She turned on me. My spine straightened, grip tightening on the mug handle. "Who the fuck are you?" she demanded, scowling.

I swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Oatmeal crusted in the back of my throat. "Taylor," I croaked.

She grunted. My stomach flipped. "Keep it down, _Kaylen"_ she told me, whistling to her dogs. Close enough. "You'll wake up Angelica. Judas, Brutus, come."

She stormed out, dogs following close at her heels. I stood still, watching her. That explained all the chew toys in the living room, but not whether 'Angelica' was a human or another pet. Then again, Brutus and Judas were also weird names for dogs.

"Wow," Aisha gasped. I glanced over my shoulder at her. " _Is_ that your type? It _is_!"

I scowled, turning on the faucet as loud as it would go and topping off my water. Not about to show weakness, I reclaimed my seat at the table, chair-legs scraping on the kitchen tiles. I snatched up the spoon and bitterly bit into the oatmeal. Aisha was right about the rice cooker, not that I'd ever admit it.

"So, you've met Rachel," Lisa chirped as I started tucking back into my breakfast.

"And she didn't even sic her dogs on you," Alec drawled. "Truly, love at first sight." I paused mid-swallow. Had that been a real possibility?

"Rachel doesn't like strangers in the house," Lisa explained. Not reassuring. I gulped, forcing the mouthful down. "But she's used to it by now, with all the traffic coming through on the weekends. We'll tell her you're moving in later, when she's not busy and maybe a little drunk." What?

"Anyway, you've met her," Lisa repeated, "and the terrible twosome. Now all that's left is Brian, and then we can negotiate the housing contract."

I stared at her. There was no way I was signing that lease.

"Rent is really very reasonable here," Lisa said. "It's the best offer you're going to get."

Aisha scoffed. "Pfft, yeah, because Lisa's _sugar daddy_ subsidizes everything." I carefully set down my spoon.

"Boss," Lisa corrected her. "He's _our_ boss. He has hired us, to do investigative work for him, in exchange for incredibly reasonable rent on this very nice house."

"Investigate his _dick_ ," Alec chanted, lowering his voice dramatically on the last word. Aisha high-fived him again. I picked the spoon up again, then decided better and put it back down.

"I'm a forensic accountant," Lisa explained, looking at me.

My hand stilled. "You said you were a psych major," I muttered.

"I can do more than one thing," Lisa snapped. I flinched. She pinched her nose, then looked back at me, smiling forcibly. "Brian and I are partners. We run a small firm on the side, investigating tax fraud and embezzlement, stuff like that. He crunches the numbers, I handle the computers. Sometimes we get hired by banks, or private contractors." Oh.

"My brother is a boring-ass business school drone," Aisha lamented. I twitched. I knew a Brian who was getting his Masters in business.

He was also black, but that didn't mean they were related. BBU was demographically majority minority white. Besides, it was a pretty common name. I turned back to my oatmeal.

"Lisa, did you get the records?" a sleep roughened voice yelled from the living room. I froze, every muscle in my body clenching. "I know last night was short notice, but we're working on a bit of a timeline here." _No way._

Lisa's smile turned strained. "No, Brian, I was a little busy getting the place ready for our unexpected _houseguest._ "

Brian rounded the corner. I nearly choked on my own spit.

" _Taylor?_ " he yelped.

He looked exactly how I remembered him. All dark lean muscle, spilling out of his loose white tank top. Tall, with the perfect posture of a long-time CEO but softened by a boyish smile accenting his chiseled jawline. His hair was pulled back into intricate cornrows and tied up in a loose bun. Looking at him and Aisha in the same room, I could see the resemblance, but barely. It made sense that they'd grown up separately, since they sounded nothing alike, which fit with what little I knew about their family. Brian had used the clipped tones of the uptown business sector as long as I'd known him.

He was just as beautiful as ever. I, on the other hand, was definitely not looking my best. I wasn't sure if that made me angrier at him or myself.

I wondered if he thought about me as often as I did him.

I coughed violently, thumping at my chest. Lisa looked at me in concern. Brian stared like he was watching a ghost or maybe a live tiger eat breakfast in his kitchen.

"H-hi Brian," I stammered, waving weakly at him.

Brian eyed the kitchen door, ready to bolt. Aisha's gaze darted between us, lips parted in shocked delight.

"No," she whispered. "It can't be. You're _that_ Taylor. Fresh Meat Taylor. _Existential Crisis_ Taylor!"

Existential crisis? I didn't know whether that made me feel better or worse about the fact that he'd ghosted me after a four word email.

I'd had so many speeches planned, and an embarrassing number of apologies, but now that he was actually here I couldn't remember any of them. I stared at him, not sure what to say.

' _It's been a year, how are you?' 'Did you know you're the first person I ever had sex with?' 'How come you would only kiss me when the lights were off?' 'Is this why you never let me stay over?' 'What did I do wrong?'_

"Are you still TA'ing Econ One?" I blurted out.

Aisha was practically vibrating with glee. Alec hooted. I tried to sink into the floor. Brian looked like he'd chew off his own foot if that meant he could leave the kitchen quicker, and I felt vaguely vindicated by that.

"She was _your student?_ " Aisha crowed. My shoulders crawled up to my earlobes. "Have you _no shame?_ "

Brian flushed. "It was at Bonesaw's art awards afterparty — the ' _Groom_ ' one. I was not at my best, okay?"

I slouched deeper in my seat. I sort of remembered being drunkenly fascinated by the huge hyper-realistic installation piece that dominated the Slaughterhouse Nine co-op's living room last fall. A sculptural dissection of a man who looked a eerily like my super nice and handsome TA, Brian, crucified in the corner of the ceiling with his organs strewn throughout the room like display pieces.

Of course, then Brian himself had shown up and the night took a more dramatic turn.

I glanced at him, before I could stop myself. He was still so handsome, towering over his roommates, chiseled jaw set in a defiant glare. I don't know what he'd ever seen in me.

My heels slid against the floor, catching on the too-long hems of the joggers Lisa lent me. I felt my face heat up. I was probably wearing Brian's pants right now.

Lisa was squinting at Brian and me like we were a particularly interesting logic problem. Alec beamed, the first time I'd seen him smile. It was not a pretty smile.

"Still an ethics violation," Alec trilled. "You _scoundrel_ , you should be fired _._ Banned from teaching freshman seminars forevermore!"

"Like you're one to talk," Brian snapped, waving angrily at him and Aisha. I curled into myself.

"Technically legal," Alec sang, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Aisha smiled beautifically at him.

Brian's expression turned murderous. "Only for another month."

"Now, now, brother dearest," Aisha declared, voice faux-soothing. I tried to make myself as small as possible. "This isn't about me. We were talking about you, taking advantage of a sweet, innocent, baby freshman — who was apparently also _your student —_ and using her for sex to make yourself feel better."

I fiddled with the bottom edge of Lisa's sweatshirt, staring hard at my spoon. I would not have put it that way.

"It was a moment of weakness!" Brian blustered. I flinched. That was hurtful, and inaccurate.

I glared up at him, opening my mouth, just in time to catch Aisha launching herself across the table, too fast for anyone to intercept. She barreled into my chest, almost knocking us both out of the chair, dishes rattling. I scrambled to steady myself and her, while she wriggled an arm around me and yanked the back of Lisa's sweatshirt up over my head, craning around to poke at my exposed shoulder blades. She pointed, twisting me around and pushing at my bruises. My right shoulder protested the motion, arm still trapped in Brian's pants.

"Objection!" Aisha shouted. I thrashed wildly, straining against her limpet grip. My right arm popped out of the pocket of the joggers, leaving behind my hand. I thumped her with my bare forearm anyway, but she held on, undeterred. "I recognize this mole, your honor! It was at least two, maybe _three_ moments of weakness!"

Heaving, I pried her off and shoved her out of the chair, breathing hard. Kicking away from the table, I pulled the bunched fabric back down over my shoulders and stood up, chair clattering to the floor. My hand fell out of Brian's joggers and hit the tiles with a hollow thud. Aisha sat silently next to it on the floor, stunned. Lisa and Brian went pale. Alec's eyebrows hiked up.

"Taylor—" Brian started, before choking down his words. I stared at him until he looked away. Alec studied me, smirking, and I glared at him too.

"Wow, Lisa," Alec quipped undeterred, leaning back in his seat. "Giving the cripple your Inspector Gadget sweatshirt was pretty tasteless."

Then everyone started yelling at once and I bolted, slamming the front door behind me.

* * *

 _Next up, "The Final Straw"._

A/N: Bonus points if you can guess the content of Brian's break-up email (he couldn't even text her, because Taylor doesn't have a cell phone).

Also, no, Lisa's partner is not an OC.


	3. Chapter Three: The Final Straw

**DISCLAIMER:** All of _Worm_ and associated properties belong to John McCrae AKA Wildblow. I'm just doing this for fun. Yes, I did read _Worm_ all the way to the finish and yes I did hate the time-skip.

 **A/N:** Well, the update schedule was clearly a failed experiment. In better news, I found a Beta-reader, so a big thank you to Naijo for all his hard work! He's an awesome writer, and you should definitely check out his fics (particularly Bittersweet) if you haven't already!

 **Trigger Warnings and spoilers beneath the cut:**

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 ** _TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER THREE: INCLUDES SPOILERS_**

 _TW: ableism; asking an amputee about their residual limb; self-derogatory use of the word cr*pple; dissociative episode (POV character); panic attacks; references to ableism-motivated suicide baiting; depression-spiraling; discussing a past break-up; cohabitating with exes; references to homelessness and being kicked out of the house; references to past experiences with flesh-eating bugs]_

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 **1.3 CHAPTER THREE: "THE FINAL STRAW"**

About three blocks into my escape, I realized I'd left my hand lying on their kitchen floor. Plus, I was still wearing Brian's pants and Lisa's "Inspector Gadget" sweatshirt. I hadn't seen the cartoon before, but judging from the sheer number of absurd mechanical "arms" jutting out from his overcoat, I could guess what Alec had been implying.

If I ever saw him again, I was going to punch him, prosthetic or no. With him, that'd bring me up to three out of five of Lisa's housemates I'd physically assaulted. In my defense, the other two had tackled me first.

I ended up perched on the steps of the library, head pillowed on my knees. I didn't even have my keys this time, so I was stuck here until one of my coworkers showed up or campus security finally called the cops.

Cautious footsteps joined me on the stairs, pausing a few feet away from me.

"Hey, uh," a familiar voice called out. "You — you can't be here right now. We're closed until noon."

I rolled my face up so that one eye was visible. "Hello Charlotte," I said.

Charlotte almost lost her balance on the steps. "Taylor? Gosh, I...did not recognize you." She motioned to my cracked glasses, wild hair, and clearly borrowed clothing. Charlotte and I were coworkers, not friends, but she was probably one of the few people on this campus who knew me by name. Plus, she was at least polite enough not to stare too obviously at my back where Lisa's sweatshirt was riding up. Everyone at the table also must've seen my scars, but I hadn't stuck around long enough for them to ask.

"Rough night," I said. Charlotte winced, then nodded.

"Today isn't your shift, right? I thought you worked Wednesdays and Thursdays."

I shrugged. "Nothing else to do."

Charlotte looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Not impossible, at this point.

"Hey, are you looking for a roommate?" I asked.

Charlotte's eyes widened in fear. She glanced up to the gargoyles as if they could answer for her. "Oh, um, no. No, definitely not."

"Mm." I turned back to my knees.

Charlotte seemed adrift, still hovering above me. "I, uh, there's always the Docks?"

I frowned. She was probably referring to the abandoned freight warehouses that had since been converted into gang strongholds and unofficial homeless encampments. Or maybe she just meant my dad's neighborhood. Not great options for a college student looking to avoid getting murdered or taking out a mortgage.

"Do you know anyone else who needs a roommate?" I asked her. "I have to find somewhere by Monday."

Charlotte shifted, playing with her key ring. "Haven't heard anything. And we're, we're pretty full-up at my place. Sorry, Taylor."

I sighed, pressing my face into my legs again. "Thanks anyway."

Charlotte loitered on the steps for a bit, keys jingling. She cleared her throat. "Actually, you know, there's this girl in my child psychology class, I think her name is Lisa? I'm pretty sure she said she had a vacancy, and that the rent was pretty cheap."

"Yeah," I grunted, unmoving. "So I've heard."

Charlotte fiddled with her keys again. "Oh, okay. That's, well, probably the best offer you're going to get, if you don't mind me saying. But why are you asking? I thought you were living with your dad."

I pushed my forehead harder into my kneecaps.

"Ah," Charlotte said, backing up the steps. "Sorry. I'll just, I'm going to go reshelve the picture books now. Yeah. See you around, Taylor."

I waved lazily at her without lifting my head and returned to my silent vigil. Maybe if I sat here long enough I'd become a gargoyle, impervious to the weather, and also feelings.

At some point, I glimpsed Rachel walking past on her way back to the house, dogs in tow. I watched her idly, studying the fur lining of her jacket hood. My gaze drifted to her face and our eyes met with a jolt. Then Rachel focused hard on the sidewalk, tightening her hold on the leashes, and I turned to study the grey miasma overhead for signs of rain.

Eventually I put my head back down and tried to stop thinking entirely. My doze was interrupted by a car pulling to a stop on the street by the library. The door slammed and someone hurried up the steps. They stopped in front of me, blotting out the glare of the cold autumn sun.

"So," Lisa said, standing so that her shadow fell over my neck. I didn't move, which she took as permission to sit down next to me.

"Alec is very sorry for what he said earlier," she tried, putting an arm around my hunched back.

I grunted. _Yeah, right._

"Okay, I lied, he's not," she admitted. "Because he's a sociopath. But _I_ have basic human empathy, and so do Aisha and Brian." I shrugged. _Debatable_.

"Regardless, he promised to stay away from you, and you have my full permission to hit him if he's stupid enough to get within range," she told me, rubbing at her ribs and grimacing theatrically. "You have a mean left hook." I smiled slightly, despite myself.

"I'm sorry about the sweatshirt, too," she added, squeezing my shoulder. "I didn't mean it that way, but it was insensitive. I should've known better."

I shrugged again, leaning into her unconsciously. It'd been years since anyone had touched me like this. Dad treated me like I was glass.

"I'd also like to apologize on behalf of Brian, who is being an asshole," she said, "And Aisha. She's can be a handful, but she doesn't usually physically attack people. That crossed a line."

Was there a polite way to say, 'I hate all your roommates, including the one I slept with and also maybe you'?

"They all promised to be better behaved next time. They get kind of rambunctious around new people."

"They're not animals," I grumbled. Rachel's dogs had been calmer.

"No, but they have about the same level of emotional intelligence," Lisa said, rubbing my back. "Only feral, because their first instinct is to bite strangers, not lick them."

That was a mental image.

"Look," Lisa took on the classic tones of a well-practiced psychoanalyst, "Aisha was trying to drive you away because she hates any competition for center of attention. Lots of mommy issues there. Alec takes his cues from Aisha since he does not care about people except for how he can use them to get back at his family, because of daddy issues. Brian admittedly doesn't want his ex living with him, but it's not like you guys were together for very long and he'll get over it because we need another tenant. Our landlord is very insistent that we fill all vacancies and I _don't_ want to piss him off."

Ah, ideal. I'd always dreamt of living in a house where everyone secretly hated me, but tolerated me for my money. I just figured that in that scenario, I'd be rich and famous.

"Besides," Lisa continued, "Aisha will do anything to spite Brian, and particularly Brian's fiancée, so now she's all for you moving in. Which means Alec is on your side too, because he'll also support anything that pisses off Brian, since Brian keeps trying to break up him and Aisha. Rachel's still going to be a hard sell, but so long as you're quiet and don't bother her, I don't think she'll make _too_ much fuss about it.

"And I," Lisa finished, pulling me in close, "would be overjoyed to have you."

That was a lot to take in. She talked so fast, I was pretty sure I'd missed at least half of it. "Just how badly do you need the rent?" I asked.

"We're getting pretty desperate. Our last interviewee turned out to have a terrible dog allergy, so she ended up joining fucking Palaquin instead."

"The party frat?" Not my first choice, but to each their own.

"Their no pets policy was worth it, I guess," Lisa spat, grip tightening. "Fucking Fitz and her dumbass 'crew' bullshit. Their clubhouse is trash."

I frowned, rubbing my shoulder. "I heard it's one of the only wheelchair accessible houses near campus."

"Well, yeah," Lisa admitted, relaxing a little. "But she's still a bitch and I hate her. She said my 'private investigator roleplay' was the 'biggest waste of time and money she'd ever heard of' and then she called me stupid. Plus, she price-gouges."

Oh. No chance of living there, then. I ran over the list of year-round university housing options I could remember. Off the top of my head, that left joining a sorority (unaffordable), reapplying to the PRT Wards Program (untenable), or selling my soul to the Slaughterhouse Nine art co-op.

Maybe if I begged, my dad would take me back. Maybe if I begged _really well_ he would even let me keep the basement.

"Taylor," Lisa said, more serious now. "I've been out on the streets before. I know you don't have a lot of reasons to trust me right now, but sleeping outside on a bench when you could have a bed and consistent access to food is just not worth it." I studied the ground. Lisa squeezed my shoulder again. "Not for anything. Even if it means living with assholes you hate."

I considered it. Living at Lisa's meant being surrounded by loud strangers who already loathed me. Sleeping in public streets meant being exposed to the potentially violent judgment of every resident in Brockton Bay. Camping in the library long-term would just lose me my job, putting me back on park benches.

Plus, my research definitely wouldn't survive it. There was no way I could transport it everywhere with me, or stash it somewhere safely during the day time. Given the whirlwind of the last eight or so hours, I hadn't tried to think it through yet, but even if I could hide _myself_ in the stacks, trying to bring in my experiments would get me caught. Finding somewhere to move it before Dad's deadline should be my highest priority, terrible roommates be damned. If Charlotte was right, I wouldn't be able to find anywhere else in the remaining day and a half.

"How much?" I finally asked. "For rent."

"He's charging us one grand a month for the whole place, including utilities, so with you there that'd be about two-hundred each, plus fifty or so if you want in on communal groceries." Lisa looked at me expectantly.

I studied my knees. That might be doable so long as I picked up some night jobs with the Dockworkers Association. Dad wouldn't approve, but he didn't have a say anymore. Even so, the idea that I might narrowly be able to afford it meant something definitely didn't add up. "What, you can't manage another fifty each?"

"Well, we could've, but Alec's dad just realized Alec stole his credit card information, and Rachel's job at the shelter isn't exactly bringing in boatloads of cash. Brian and I already going to be covering for them most months, so this would be a serious load off for us. Plus Brian is putting Aisha through school and has to keep everything clean for social services, and I'm paying for tuition mostly out of pocket."

I stared at her. She wouldn't even have the in-state discount.

"Forensic accounting is lucrative," she explained. "Especially when you're working with banks."

Apparently so. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if she meant robbing them.

"You know, if nothing else, I still owe you lunch," Lisa said, rocking to her feet. "And a new pair of glasses." She tugged at my arm. "Come on, up."

I let her drag me upright, knees creaking. "Do you have my prosthetic with you?"

Lisa was suddenly very interested in the clouds. "No, I… forgot it at the house. I was in a bit of a rush to find you, you see."

Which meant I'd have to go back with her to get it. Typical.

"We'll swing by and pick it up on the way," Lisa promised. "And don't worry, I'm buying."

The drive back to Lisa's place was uncomfortable, but thankfully short. It didn't give me a lot of time to reconsider my increasingly poor life choices.

Lisa left me in the mercifully empty living room while she ran upstairs to grab another jacket. I stood there awkwardly, unwilling to sit on the couch. My hand wasn't anywhere to be seen.

When I didn't hear any noise from the kitchen, I decided it was probably safe to go check.

I slipped silently through the door, and froze. Rachel was standing there, studying my prosthetic. Someone had picked it up and left it lying naked out on the table.

"Yours?" she asked, jerking her chin at me.

I nodded. She handed it back to me, perfunctory, like it was a newspaper instead of a lifelike human limb. I snatched it from her and vigorously rubbed it on Lisa's sweatshirt. I didn't like other people touching my arm.

Rachel watched me, impassive. "Don't leave it lying around," she commanded, "or the dogs'll get it." I didn't really know what to say to that. Luckily, Rachel didn't seem to expect a response.

She started to walk away, work boots clomping against the tiles, but paused in the doorframe, her back to me.

"The people here," she said, "are loud."

I nodded, then realized she couldn't see me. "Yeah," I mumbled.

Rachel nodded curtly and left. It felt more like a warning then an expression of solidarity, but I appreciated the effort even if it was way too late to be useful. Everyone in this house was completely overwhelming, and Rachel had been the least terrible by far, despite intentionally getting my name wrong. I wandered back into the living room, right hand safely back on my arm.

Lisa was waiting for me there, along with Aisha and Brian, now wearing street-clothes instead of pajamas. _Fuck._ I widened my stance, getting ready to fend off sudden attacks. Lisa smiled brightly at me. "Ready to go?"

I went still, trying to remember if I'd agreed to a group outing. With Aisha. And Brian. Whose pants I was still wearing.

I rocked from side to side in the door frame, not really sure how to say no without getting tackled again. I hadn't interacted with this many people at once without name calling since...maybe ever. Work meetings didn't exactly count. Plus, I wasn't feeling kindly towards either of them right then.

Lisa snapped her fingers, like she'd just had an epiphany. "Right!" she exclaimed. "You probably want a shirt. Here, Aisha, come with me — let's go get Taylor a shirt." She dragged Aisha upstairs, leaving me and Brian alone in the living room. I could hear Aisha's protests as they retreated down the hall, cutting off when a door slammed shut on the second floor.

I stared at him, trying to find any words.

"I'm engaged," Brian burst out.

What? When? It had only been a year, when the hell did he have time to—

"She stays here sometimes," he rambled on. "So I thought you should know."

My brain stalled out trying to process that information. _Deep breaths_. "Okay," I said, slowly.

"You were always one of my favorite students," Brian said. "You sort of...reminded me of Aisha, a bit." His _sister?_ "I really did want to get to know you outside of class. Platonically. So I'm hoping maybe we can do that now — but platonically. Strictly platonically. Like, in a friend way."

I studied the ceiling, my shoes, the door. Maybe if I stared hard enough I'd spontaneously sublimate and not have to listen to my first real love, the only person who ever _wanted_ me like that, try to retroactively let me down easy because I might be _moving in with him_.

"I do not — regret what we had, exactly," Brian stuttered, "but I do regret the circumstances that led up to me making that… decision."

I vindictively considered telling him I'd been a virgin when I met him, but decided it would be even worse if he knew.

"I hope," Brian choked out, clearly coming to the end of a pre-rehearsed speech, "that we can be good friends someday. I would like...to be like a brother to you. We are a family, in this house, which means that we are like siblings, you and I—"

"Brian," I snapped. "Shut up. Just—" I rubbed vigorously at my face. "Shut the fuck up. Stop talking. Be quiet." Brian's jaw clicked closed.

I pushed at my eyes, trying to compose myself. Everything was bubbling up and I couldn't control it. I took three more shaky breaths, then shoved my hair back, looking up.

"You know I still don't know why you broke it off?" My fingers clenched and unclenched convulsively. "You sent me a _four word email_ and then the semester was over and I never heard from you again. I — I figured it was me, and my," I waved my right arm in the air, "everything."

"No, of course not!" Brian shouted. He at least had the decently to look guilty. "It wasn't _that_. I just didn't know what else to say."

Bullshit. Was he even _trying_ to lie convincingly?

"Oh, I don't know," I sniped, pacing furiously at the opposite end of the couch, "maybe ' _I'm sorry_ '? Or 'it's not you, it's me'? You didn't have to _mean_ it! 'This isn't working out' — you were already using a contraction, would it have killed you to add two more words?"

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You're sorry _now_ , since suddenly I'm back in your life again and you have to actually speak to me!" I hissed.

"Come _on_ , Taylor!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "It wasn't about your arm! I was twenty-three and trying to adopt my kid sister, and you were _eighteen._ We were in different places! Did you really see us going anywhere serious?"

No, I guess not. Not when he put it like that.

"I am sorry about how it happened, okay? I should've handled it better. But you heard how Aisha found out, and social services were getting suspicious. I didn't know what to do, so I just ended it as quickly as possible. I couldn't think of anything else. I was afraid they'd hear about your age and it'd keep me from getting custody."

My shoulders slumped. I'd known all along that his family always came first. It was one of the things I'd loved about him.

"So it was inevitable," I said, drained. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Brian agreed. "But it wasn't your fault."

I stared at the ground. 'Fresh Meat' Taylor strikes again.

"Are we cool?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "Fine. Cool. Yes. We're cool. This is definitely the cheapest housing in the area. I need a place to sleep. You…also live here. Which means we will be living together. So it's fine. It's cool. That's fine. I can handle it." I scrubbed at my cheeks.

"But you—" I shoved a finger towards his chest. "You are not my _brother_ , or my father-figure, or whatever paternalistic bullshit you were saying before. You are a guy that I hooked up with five or six times when I was a freshman, with whom I will soon share a legally binding contract. We are roommates, and maybe eventually friends, and nothing else. That is _it_."

I glanced at our reflections in the flat-screen TV. He needed to me to forget about this and move on even more desperately than I did. If I wanted to, I could still probably ruin his life with a few well-placed phone calls.

"I am willing," I quietly suggested, "to pretend that really _is_ it, and put a moratorium on all of this forever. We aren't exes, we never saw each other naked, you were my TA and I wish I'd gotten to know you better outside of class, but never did." It wasn't even really a lie. As much as he talked about her in section, I hadn't learned his sister's name until this morning, and was only peripherally aware that he had been trying to get her away from his mom. We hadn't really confided in each other back then; Brian didn't have anything much to say to the freshman he was fucking, and I was too enamoured with the fact that someone like him was noticing me to care.

"If anyone asks," I said, "we deny everything, and you were sleeping with a different Taylor who happens to look a lot like me." I paused and considered for a moment. "This includes jokes and innuendos at our expense. We couldn't have possibly heard them, because why would anyone think that about us? We never dated — technically, true."

Brian slumped in relief. "Yes, totally. Sounds good. Let's do it."

"But!" I added, raising my hand. "I'm going to need at least an eight hour period without you in it to deal with the fact that I'm seeing you again. And going to be living with you. And maybe your fiancée. _And_ all your friends, who know me as ' _Fresh Meat Existential Crisis_ Taylor,' for reasons I don't even want to think about."

"The existential crisis was really more of an extended ethical dilemma," Brian objected.

Not the concern, but okay. I rolled my eyes, cutting off any further explanations.

"So," Brian said, hands grasping awkwardly at empty air, "that's a no on lunch, then?"

"What do you think?" I snapped.

"Yep, cool, no problem. See you," he checked his watch, backing towards his room, "tomorrow."

His door slid shut behind him, on the opposite side of the stairwell from what would be my room. I slumped down on the couch, shaking.

This was a nightmare. What the fuck.

Aisha and Lisa came bounding down the stairs, carrying a pile of brightly colored frowned, pausing on the bottom step. "Where's Brian?"

I shrugged, putting my head back in my hand.

Aisha dumped her half of the load on Lisa, then ducked around the corner into the kitchen before running over to Brian's door, pounding on it. "Yo, open up! We're going to lunch, remember!"

"I'm not hungry!" Brian yelled, voice thready through the door-frame. "Go without me!"

Aisha scowled. "The fuck?" she muttered, pounding on his door again until Brian told her to stop on pain of cutting off their cable. "Damn it, I really wanted to watch." Then she turned on me. "This is your fault," she declared.

I said nothing. "What did you _do_ to him?" she asked, something like awe in her tone.

I shrugged again. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Shit, Slim-Jim," Aisha said, plopping down next to me. I scooted as far away as I could without standing up and running into the kitchen. "It must've been _epic_. Can't believe I missed it."

"Okay!" Lisa exclaimed, dropping the shirts on top of me. "Enough moping! We'll talk about our feelings later — right now, you need to pick a shirt so that _I_ can go put something greasy in you—"

"That's what she said," hummed Aisha, leaning back into the couch.

"—r stomach. Up, up! We're going to stop by the dollar store on the way to pick you up a six-pack of underwear and a toothbrush."

I did feel better with food in me, even if it was only a band-aid on top of a series of violent kicks to the face.

"So," Lisa said through a mouthful of burger. "Have you decided on the lease?"

"Yeah," I sighed, fiddling with a soggy fry. "I'm in, I guess."

" _Great!_ " Lisa cheered. She clapped her hands together. "Let's get down to it. Now, our roommate contract isn't really that demanding, we just want to make sure that everyone knows when quiet hours are for the shared spaces and not to leave their dirty socks all over the place, things like that. Brian has instituted a 'no shirt, no-service' rule in the kitchen after last January, but that shouldn't be a problem so long as you don't—"

Aisha slurped her soda loudly. I glared at her. "Slow down, Sherlock," Aisha drawled. "T.M.I."

"Right. Sorry," Lisa said, visibly calming herself. "I'll get you a written copy. It's only a couple pages long, quick read, and we can talk about it before or after you sign, whichever."

I scowled. I definitely wouldn't be signing anything without reading it first.

"I brought the papers with me," Lisa admitted. "But we can't really finalize them without Brian here. We need two witnesses for it to count, that's why I invited him in the first place."

As if I wasn't almost as angry at Aisha, despite having only spoken with her once. I sighed, dunking another fry in my ketchup cup. "And the only other option is Alec?" I asked.

"Yeah, sorry," Lisa said. "Rachel hates reading. She thinks all paperwork is a trick to get her to sign her dogs away."

"Fine," I said, shoving three fries in my mouth before picking up my burger. A little bit of grease dribbled onto the pink pullover I was borrowing, landing on the first 'I' of 'If you can see me, it's too late.' Pink was not my color, but it was the only shirt that was long enough to cover both my wrists and my stomach even if it was way too stretched out in the chest.

I set down my burger to grab a napkin and spot the stain, then gave up and went back to my burger when that proved to be an exercise in futility.

Aisha watched me, fascinated.

"What?" I snapped, glaring at her.

"Do you do everything left handed?" she asked, staring at me.

I glowered to hide my flinch, turning away. "Side effect of only having one hand," I growled.

" _Awesome_ ," she breathed. "Do you have, like, a robot hand too? Can I see it?"

"What?" I squawked. "No!" Aisha looked at me expectantly. I groaned. She definitely wasn't going to drop this. "I… used to have a body-powered hook, but you'd probably think it was pretty disappointing." Most people did, including me, but myoelectric was too expensive and purportedly even more useless. My upgrades would help, but I usually just wore my cosmetic glove. It did the basic things I needed, like make people stop staring at me and give me enough leverage to carry light loads.

"Never!" Aisha insisted, leaning forward. "That's so cool! How'd you lose it?" My hook was stuck at my dad's house, along with all of my other stuff which I would probably never see again. "Was it cancer? A car accident? The _war?_ "

Oh.

"Aisha!" Lisa shouted. "Stop!"

Fuck.

I stared at my hand. It was trembling. My burger lay fallen on the table in a puddle of ketchup and grease. "It's fine," I said.

"Taylor, you don't have to—"

"It's _fine_ ," I repeated, picking up my burger and gripping it so hard it bled. "Everyone always wants to know. I'm used to it. It doesn't bother me."

I turned to Aisha, looking her directly in the eyes. Ketchup dripped down my hand. "Cockroaches ate it," I told her.

Aisha's smile turned sheepish, while Lisa went slightly green.

"You're not serious," Aisha said.

I shrugged jerkily, taking a bite of my burger with some difficulty.

"You're fucking with me. I _know_ you're—"

"Aisha," Lisa snapped, slapping a hand over her Aisha's mouth. "When you're in a hole, _stop_ _digging_."

Aisha scowled, but kept her sulking silent. Lisa removed her now-slimy palm and primly wiped it on a napkin.

"Taylor," she said, smiling wide, "why don't we go to the bathroom? I need to powder my nose."

I shrugged, focused on my burger. If I held it hard enough, it'd have to stop shaking eventually. "No, I'm good."

"I want company," Lisa insisted. I rolled my eyes.

"Take your housemate," I suggested. Aisha glowered at her straw, sipping on her drink and not looking at anyone.

"Aisha doesn't need to go," Lisa declared, grabbing my shoulder and knocking the burger out of my hand.

"Hey!" That was the _second time_ my burger had hit the stained tabletop. At some point, the five second rule would stop applying.

"Bathroom," Lisa repeated, tugging me along. She pushed me through the door, barricading it shut with her body.

"Taylor," she said, staring at me. "Are you okay?"

I frowned back at her. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Your hand is shaking."

I looked down. It was also still covered in ketchup. I went over to the sink to wash it off.

"Taylor. Look at me. Please."

I glanced at her in the mirror.

"It's okay to not be okay. Aisha shouldn't have asked you that."

I turned the water up as hot as it would go. I still couldn't really feel it.

"Taylor," Lisa begged. She sounded like before, like she was afraid for me, or maybe of me.

My glasses fogged and I didn't have to look at her anymore. My hand was numb and throbbing.

"Taylor," Lisa whispered. I let the running water drown out my thoughts.

"I think my life is falling apart," I heard myself say. "I'm afraid that if I let myself think about it, I'll hurt someone. It's stopped feeling real."

Lisa didn't say anything.

"It wasn't that great in the first place," I went on, "but now it's really a mess. I'm not even sure how it got this screwed up."

"It has certainly," Lisa agreed, voice cracking, "been a long day."

"More like long decade," I scoffed, scrubbing at my hand with my prosthetic. The ketchup wouldn't come off. I could still smell it, sticky and sweet with a coppery tang. "I think my dad kicked me out." I heard Lisa's breath hitch. "And Dr. Wallace called me a hack and a terrorist. He said my experiments were a 'threat to society.' So now I don't have any housing. And my dad is going to destroy the only good thing I ever built if I can't find a place to move it by Monday. But that's fine, because if I'm not living there at least I'm not a burden on him anymore."

"Taylor," Lisa whimpered. "You're _not_."

"You almost scared me off the roof last night because you thought I looked so depressed I was going to kill myself," I reminded her, rubbing harder. "Twice. 'Poor little cripple girl, _I_ couldn't live like that,'" I recited, pitching my voice higher. "'I'd throw myself off a building for _sure_!'" Lisa sucked in a harsh breath.

"The only guy I've ever slept with regrets it," I listed off, throat hoarse, soap squeaking against my nailless fingers, "so we're going to pretend it never happened. All of his housemates joke about me and call me 'Fresh Meat' Taylor, probably because he told everyone I look like I've been through a meat grinder. One of them called me a cripple once already and the other one tackled me and tried to take my shirt off. Dogs almost chewed my prosthetic all to hell. And now if I don't want to be homeless I'm going to have to live with them because I don't have any friends, which means moving in with my ex, who wants to be my _brother_ , and they'll all laugh at me behind my back, and it'll be like high school all over again." My hand slipped off and slapped wetly against the bottom of the sink. I whirled around, chest heaving.

"If you try to shove me in another locker full of tampons," I said, "I swear to god I'll kill you."

"Taylor," Lisa asked, carefully. "Can I hug you?"

"What?"

"May I," Lisa repeated, stepping closer, "hug you?"

"Why?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Because right now I think you could use it, and I would very much like to give you one."

" _Why?_ " I insisted, shaking.

"Because," Lisa said, her arms hovering around me, but not touching, "you matter to me. And I want you to feel okay."

"You don't even _know_ me!" I protested, rubbing my hand over my eyes. "We met last night! No, not even last night — _this morning_!"

"Yes," Lisa ceded, "but it's been a _really long_ eleven hours. And I want to get to know you better."

I let out an inarticulate scream of rage, slamming my arm on the bathroom counter. "I'm not _worth it_!" I told her.

"You might believe that, but I don't. I think you're absolutely worth fighting for. And right now, that means giving you a hug. May I do that?"

My whole body was trembling. I choked back a sob. Finally, I nodded, neck spasming.

"Thank you," Lisa whispered, wrapping me tight in her arms. She tucked her head under my chin. "Thank you, Taylor."

We stood like that for a long while, Lisa gently rocking me as I cried. I was dimly aware of people coming in to use the bathroom, and turning right back around again when they saw us leaning against the sink. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, but the room stayed glaringly bright.

Time passed. Lisa rubbed circles across my spine, and eventually, after what seemed like hours, my shoulders stopped shaking. I felt hollow, like someone had taken a serving-spoon and emptied out my insides.

"Hey," Lisa said, into my collar bone. "You back with me?"

"Yeah," I croaked.

"Feeling up to going back out there? You don't have to. We can leave. Aisha can call Alec for a ride or something."

"No," I groaned, cutting her off, a small spark flaring inside me. That would be admitting defeat. "It's fine. Let me just, wash my face first."

I turned awkwardly back to the sink, head aching. My hand was still sitting in it. I picked it up, not sure what to do with the water pooling inside.

"Here," Lisa said, handing me a wad of paper towels. I dumped the water out and dried it off as best I could before wrapping it up and shoving it deep in the pocket of the joggers. It looked weird, like there was a severed hand growing out of my leg, but I didn't want to put it back on while the socket was still wet.

I ran the tap again, splashing water across my eyes and wiping down my glasses. It didn't help much. Water was still dribbling inside the cracks in the lens, making my vision even blurrier. I glanced up at the mirror. I looked half-dead.

"Alright," I said. "Let's go."

Aisha was still waiting for us at the table, munching on an empty ice cream cone and tapping away at her phone. She looked up as we slid into the booth.

"Oh, hey," she said, subdued. "I got you both double scoops. Mint chocolate chip and vanilla, since I didn't know what Taylor liked. It's, uh, more than a little melted by now, but you could probably still drink it? Pretend it's a milkshake."

I looked down at the soupy stout paper cup in front of me, complete with pink plastic spoon.

"I, uh, may have some regrets," Aisha said, staring at the table. "About before. And this morning. I shouldn't have asked. _Not_ that it was strictly my fault, exactly — like, how could _I_ have known it was a touchy subject? That's why I asked in the first place! But I didn't help. Probably."

I picked up the spoon, twiddling it between my fingers.

"Alec shouldn't have called you that," she added. "I don't think he knows any better. But I'll make him apologize. And I won't ask again, or touch you without your permission. Lisa says I don't have a good sense of boundaries, but I don't like it when people do that to me, so I should've known better."

I pressed the edge of the spoon into my thumb, considering. She hadn't exactly apologized, but it was closer than anyone else had come so far, exempting Lisa. "Alright."

Lisa's eyes darted back and forth between us.

"I really do think your arm is awesome, not weird," Aisha insisted, balling a napkin up in her hand. "Robot arms are kickass. Like the Terminator! And anyone who can scare Brian like that has to be good in my books. You're way cooler than he made you sound."

I thought about that. The light reflected red off of the pink plastic. This was the first time since the hospital anyone had said anything positive about my arm, even if it wasn't exactly the sort of compliment I wanted.

"Help me fuck with him and Alec and maybe we'll call it even," I offered.

"Deal!" Aisha gasped eagerly. Lisa relaxed slightly in her chair.

I took a sip of the ice cream. It was sweet, and more on the lukewarm side of cold.

"Okay?" Lisa gestured vaguely to me and the bowl.

"Yeah," I said, maybe even meaning it.


End file.
